


Blonde Russians in the Middle of Nowhere

by flashforeward



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, THRUSH, Trans Illya, Trans Male Character, episode rewrite, the nowhere affair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6415027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashforeward/pseuds/flashforeward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a different card comes up on top when they try to determine who should seduce Napoleon Solo, and things go a little differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blonde Russians in the Middle of Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to have someone beta this but I am entirely too excited so I'm just posting it...AU of "The Nowhere Affair" I had a lot of fun exploring Mara as a Thrush agent rather than a plot device.

Mara's hands are steady as she takes the pile of cards from the machine. This is the next step in achieving Thrush's goal, breaking through Solo's chemically manufactured defenses to get to Uncle's secrets. Still, she can't help but pity whichever of her fellow Thrush agents has drawn the short straw in this. Carefully, she turns the pile over and looks at the designation on the top of the card.

 

Except there isn't a Thrush  designation on the top of the card.

 

"What is this?" Mara asks, turning to Terturnian. "This is no Thrush agent."

 

"Ah, no." Terturnian does not sound anywhere near as apologetic as Mara thinks he ought to. "I thought I would take this chance to test a little hypothesis of mine." He plucks the card from  Mara's grip, a too pleased smile on his face as he shares this result with Longolius. "I took the liberty of adding Mr. Solo's partner to the pile as well. Out of  curiosity , you see."

 

" So this is Illya Kuryakin?" Longolius asks, flicking the card with his finger tip. Terturnian nods and Longolius turns away, throwing up his hands in frustration. "What good is that supposed to do us?" he asks. "even if we  _ had _ Kuryakin, we'd never convince him to seduce Solo." He shudders - whether at the thought of one man seducing another or of relying on an Uncle agent, Mara isn't sure.

 

Still, the stark difference between  Terturnian and Longolius's  reactions have given Mara an idea.

 

"What if we told him we had Kuryakin?" she suggests, glancing at the second card in the pile and shuddering at the sight of her designation in the top corner. Loathe though she is to admit it, even just to herself, she owes Kuryakin for keeping her from playing succubus. She sets the stack down and turns, speaking as she thinks. "We tell Solo that we have his partner and we explain in detail what we will do to Kuryakin if Solo doesn't cooperate."

 

T erturnian shakes his head. "No, my dear, that is fear, not libido."

 

"Then we tell him what we will allow Kuryakin and himself to do once he gives us the information. In detail, of course."

 

"That's disgusting," Longolius snaps, facing them again. "No one wants to hear things like that, why are we even entertaining the idea?"

 

"Because," Terturnian says, looking smug, "my machines are never wrong."

 

***

 

As second in line of most tempting to Napoleon Solo, Mara is tasked with bringing him news of Kuryakin's capture. She rather hopes he breaks quickly. Takes pleasure in imagining his reaction to his partner's imminent danger. In seeing the temptation Kuryakin is once Solo's memory returns, once she is telling him what he and his partner will be allowed to do together - things Uncle would likely never approve of. And then he will break  _ again _ when he discovers he has betrayed Uncle for nothing. It's everything a Thrush agent could hope to achieve.

 

And so, though Longolius has made sure she got dolled up and ordered her ot be at her most alluring, she knocks on Solo's door with head and hopes high - this plan, she is sure, will be the first of many great victories.

 

"I suppose even if I were to say  _ go away _ , you'd still come in?" Solo calls. He sounds tired - the headache is likely still bothering him. Good. He deserves it. And worse.

 

"Yes, I suppose I will," Mara replies. She keeps her voice soft, though she longs to raise it and cause Solo further pain. "But I assumed you'd rather be decent when I open the door."  _ She'd _ rather he be decent, too. She has no desire to see anymore of Solo than she already has.

 

There's a heavy moment of silence and Mara fears she'll have to walk in no matter what, but then that faint, pained voice calls again, "I'm decent." He sounds  so defeated, but Mara knows this is not the defeat that heralds her victory. Still without memory,  Solo can give her nothing worth while. She schools her face as she opens the door, preparing to break this insufferable enemy agent.

 

He's sitting on the bed, his back to the door. The light from the window shines directly on him - like a spotlight or a painting of a saint. The first is more fitting for a showboat like Solo, but Mara intends to steal the limelight.

 

"How are you feeling, Mr. Solo?" she asks, stepping into the room  and easing the door closed behind her.

 

One shoulder rises then falls in a half shrug. "The same," he says, "not that you care."

 

"No," Mara says, "I suppose  _ I _ don't. But Mr. Kuryakin will be pleased to hear it."

 

Solo does not move. Doesn't even stiffen. "Who?" he asks, his voice flat.

 

For a moment Mara wonders if this will end before it begins, but when she remembers that  the next option is for  _ her _ to seduce Solo, she squashes all doubts and presses on. "Mr. Kuryakin. It appears he was quiet worried about you, Mr. Solo. We found him in Nowhere trying to retrace your steps." She lets out a soft, cruel laugh. "Such loyalty for a man who does not even remember him."

 

T his time, Napoleon turns. His face is set, lips a tight line. "I suggest you discuss that with whomever clocked me with a six shooter," he says, voice low and quiet.

 

"Oh, come now, Mr. Solo," Mara smiles at him, nothing sincere in the pull of her lips save condescension. "You cannot claim a tiny knock would make you forget a man so devoted to you. Just admit it. Mr. Kuryakin cares more for you than you do for him."

 

Solo grits his teeth and turns away. "I don't know what you're talking about." His voice is horase, whether from regaining his memory and trying to hide it or from frustration, Mara isn't sure.

 

Either way, though, it's a step in the right direction. So she keeps pushing, because that's the only way. "I am talking about a man so desperate for you he traveled alone to the middle of nowhere, quite literally, just to find you. A man so loyal he risked everything for you. And he will lose it all, too, Mr. Solo." Mara slowly rounds the bed, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at Solo. "We have him and we will break him and the man he risked it all for doesn't even care."

 

Solo makes no move, but this is enough for now. She has planted her seed, now she must tend and water and watch it grow.

 

She leaves Solo sitting quite still on his bed. The sun has shifted, the spotlight no longer on him, and  Ma ra smiles to herself as she closes the door.

 

This show is hers now.

 

***

 

Kuryakin.

 

Kuryakin.

 

The name whirls around in Napoleon's mind, searching for a place to light but finding no perch. Something is missing. Someone?

 

Napoleon groans and falls back onto the bed. His headache pulses at the bridge of his nose. The Thrush woman, Mara, her visit seems to have only worsened it.

 

Kuryakin.

 

Napoleon squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the pain.

 

Kuryakin.

 

Where does it fit?  
  


Kuryakin.

 

_Where?_

 

***

 

"Now what?" Longolius asks as Mara rejoins him and Terturnian in the lab. He's been pouting, Mara can tell. Upset that she has gained control of this plan, that it will be her glory when Solo finally breaks.

 

Mara smirks at him. "Now we escalate," she says. "We tell Mr. Solo all the tortures we are putting Mr. Kuryakin through. And," she grins at Terturnian, "we shall tell him all the things we've promised to Kuryakin if he only cooperates."

 

Terturnian nods, smiling broadly. "Stick and carrot," he says. "Very well planned, my dear."

 

Longolius grunts. "And what do I do?" he asks.

 

"You find us a blond Russian. In case Mr. Solo requires  a  visual aid."

 

"This will never work," Longolius grumbles, but he leaves, likely to begin the search. And Mara thrills at the feeling of being so in control.

 

It is all hers now and she will never relinquish her hold.

 

***

 

"Mr. Kuryakin asks after you," Mara says. She has brought Solo his lunch and sets the tray down with a clatter on the table. Napoleon sits in a hardwood chair by the window, gazing out at the clear blue sky. "He begs to know you are all right. To see you," she let's disgust creep into her voice for the next words, "to  _ touch _ you." She shakes her head, though Solo isn't looking at her. "His first and last question day or night is about your well being."

 

"Is that so?" Solo asks, gaze still fixed steadily out the window. "And what have you told him?"

 

"That you are in one piece." Mara steps forward - if he will not look at her, she can at least loom in his peripheral vision. "And if he gives us the information we require, he can see you. Perhaps...more than that." Mara lets her sneer creep into her voice. "He seems more concerned for you than for himself. More like a lover than a friend."

 

Solo blows out a quick, short laugh - no amusement, only disbelief. "I think I'd remember something like that," he says in a quiet voice.

 

"Would you? You who cannot even remember this man who is so willing to die for you?" He turns his face to her then and she reaches out, trailing her fingers lightly down her cheek. He shudders at her touch. "Should I tell him that?" she asks. "Should I inform Mr. Kuryakin that he means nothing to you and end his pain?"

 

"No," Solo says. It's barely a whisper. A breath of air with the faintest of sounds. "No."

 

***

 

The name is making him dizzy. Kuryakin. Kuryakin. Kuryakin. It's like a fly caught in a light fixture. A constant buzz he can do nothing to stop.

  
But he cannot fathom what it means to him.

 

***

 

The blond Russian Longolius has found is passable in dim light. Mara gives Longolius the pleasure of roughing the lad up a bit - he can't look fresh and untouched if they've been torturing him, can he?

 

They put him in a small room with no windows and a single bare bulb that casts a poor glow over the dark wood of the walls, the rough stone of the floor, and the hunched, shirtless body of a dirty, blond man.

 

"Why is he shirtless?" Longolius grumbles as Mara inspects his handiwork. "Wouldn't a tattered shirt have more effect?"

 

"Remember, Sir," Terturnian says, "we are going for libido."

 

Longolius snorts. "Then Mara should be up there seducing Solo herself."

 

"This will work," Mara says shortly, turning on her heel and striding away. It is time to let the lovers meet and watch Solo's resolve break.

 

***

 

"Mr. Kuryakin wishes to see you."

 

Napoleon looks up, meeting Mara's gaze. He cocks an eyebrow. "And you're, uh, going to let him?" he asks, nodding at the open door behind her. (The name still buzzes but refuses to settle.  _ Kuryakin. Kuryakin. Kuryakin. _ )

 

The woman smiles. "It is his last request before he betrays Uncle," she says, all cloying sweetness. "Once he has seen that you are well, he will tell us everything we wish to know."

 

"Then why should I go with you?"

 

"We could just kill you and show him your body," she says with feigned nonchalance.

 

Napoleon shakes his head, stands and crosses to her. "No," he says, "if that were an option I'd be dead already."

 

"Well, the carrot is sometimes easier," she counters, "but when necessary, the stick will get results."

 

Napoleon isn't sure where the gun came from, but it's clear what will happen if he tries to resist. He steps out of the room, Mara close behind, guiding him with sharp commands and the press of a barrel to his back.

 

***

 

The man slumped over in the small, dimly lit room doesn't look familiar to Napoleon, but since his own name hasn't felt familiar since he arrived here he can't put too much stock in that. Mara, keeping the gun at Napoleon's back, raps loudly on the door frame three times, rousing her prisoner. He looks up, shakes his head, catches sight of who's in the doorway and starts up, struggling to stand.

 

"Napoleon," he says, words slurred. "Napoleon, are you all right?" He's up now, hunched just a little, chest glistening with sweat in the dim glow from the bulb above him.

 

Napoleon stares, eyes fixed on bare skin, the faint memory of raised scar tissue beneath questing fingers filling his mind, the white line almost unnoticeable against pale skin. He takes a stuttering step forward, reaching out, then turns swiftly on his heel, catching Mara's hand in his and wrenching the gun from her grasp.

 

The decoy is out of his chains now, rushing forward, but Napoleon has the gun trained on Mara and Mara is in charge and the decoy freezes, looking from Napoleon to Mara then back. Napoleon has no time for him, all attention fixed on the woman before him.

 

"That isn't Illya Kuryakin," he says, voice steady and firm. "Where is he?"

 

And that's when the wall explodes.

 

Illya stumbles through, coughing in the dust. He assesses the situation before him, gives Napoleon a nod, his own gun drawn on the Thrush agents who have been trying to decide what move to make.

 

It's too late now.

 

"How?" Mara asks, glaring at Napoleon. "You could barely even see him, how did you know?"

 

Napoleon only shrugs.

 

***

 

"Yes, Mr. Solo, how did you know?" Mr. Waverly asks at the debriefing. "Your memory hadn't fully come back yet and they kept their impostor in a poorly lit room. How did you know it wasn't Mr. Kuryakin?"

 

Napoleon glances at Illya, who is pointedly not looking at him, then meets Mr. Waverly's gaze. "I suppose my memory just picked the perfect time to come back, sir," he says.

 

"Hmph." Mr. Waverly dismisses them with a wave of his hand, eyeing Napoleon, clearly not satisfied with this explanation but not willing to push it.

 

***

 

"You can stop kissing my scars any time now, Napoleon," Illya whispers, fingers lazily brushing at Napoleon's hair. "There is more to me than that."

 

"I have to thank them properly," Napoleon whispers, pressing another kiss to Illya's chest. "They saved my life, you know."

 

"Yes, mine, too, once upon a time. But they aren't going anywhere."

 

Napoleon lifts his head and meets Illya's gaze, catches the soft, indulgent smile on his lips. "Thank you," he says, before meeting those lips in a kiss.


End file.
